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Chapter 13
February 15, 1999 - Lundi Gras
Lizzy dashed about
the room, as she neglected to pack the night before. Entering
the shared bathroom, she opened the medicine cabinet and collected
her necessities.
Toothpaste -
toothbrush - cosmetics - hair spray, shampoo, conditioner, hair
products… The
humidity in New Orleans insured that a curly-haired woman would
have more than her share of bad hair days. What else? Oh,
yes - the birth control pills. Sigh. If only I could have a normal
period. Haven't really needed these for much else since Thibodaux.
Tossing the items
into a zip-top plastic bag, she almost ran into her roommate
as she exited the small bathroom.
"Slow down,
Lizzy," Marianne advised. "Chris isn't due for over
an hour."
"Can't,"
she returned as she filled her overnight bag with a change of
clothes. "I want to grab something to eat from the cafeteria
before he gets here."
"Sorry I can't
join you, roomie - I'm on my way to pick up your sister."
"Oh!"
Lizzy stopped her packing to give Mari a hug. "Have a good
time. Tell Jane I'll miss her. I hope it doesn't rain too much."
Mari returned the
good wishes, picked up her purse and was out the door. Lizzy
began collecting her notebook and other writing materials.
Right at ten o'clock,
Lizzy's dorm phone announced the arrival of her ride. Minutes
later, Lizzy jumped into Chris' truck and he pulled away. Within
fifteen minutes, he was driving up the curving on-ramp from Carrollton
onto I-10, the southern-most major interstate highway in the
United States, connecting Jacksonville with Los Angeles.
Heading west, the
Silverado made its way through the suburban sprawl of Metairie
and Kenner, before passing Louis Armstrong New Orleans International
Airport and crossing the marshland of the Bonnet Carre' Spillway.
Cypress trees, live ones as bare as the dead, stood sentinel
to the western approaches of the city. Glimpses of Lake Ponchartrain
could be seen.
Much of southeast
Louisiana was marsh, swamps and other lowlands, and was crisscrossed
with numerous bridges, causeways and elevated highways. The Bonnet
Carre' section was ten miles long before finding high ground
again at Laplace, St. John the Baptist's largest city. Only a
few miles later, the interstate crossed the huge cypress swamp
south of Lake Maurepas.
For the next fifty
miles, the land varied between swamp, forest, farmland, and industrial
sites - and back again. Only occasionally could anyone driving
by see the massive refineries and chemical plants that lined
the levee of the Mississippi from south of New Orleans to the
north of Baton Rouge.
Baton Rouge was
the next signpost along the way. Established at the bend of the
Mississippi where the great river turns from its thousand mile
southerly march to meander eastward, the Red Stick city was saved
from being an ordinary River Road town by two facts. First, in
a fit of jealousy by rural politicians, the legislature moved
the state capital there in 1846 from New Orleans. Second, the
Seminary of Learning of the State of Louisiana was moved from
Pineville to Baton Rouge in 1869. It was renamed Louisiana State
University the next year.
So instead of being
just another wide place in the road, Baton Rouge became Louisiana's
second city. Unfortunately, its location and purpose assured
that the city never developed its own unique character, as did
New Orleans or Lafayette. Because of that and poor urban design,
it was the worst example of urban sprawl in the state. Billions
of dollars poured into its infrastructure had done little to
relieve the habitual gridlock. But nobody cared about all that
when Saturday Night in the fall comes around and the Tigers are
home in Death Valley.
Once over the Mississippi
River Bridge, Chris' truck went from the congestion of East Baton
Rouge Parish to the nothingness of West Baton Rouge Parish. Forests
and swamps lined the freeway - the green of the pines and the
bare limbs of the cypress - until the pair reached the expanse
of the Atchafalaya River basin.
About two hours
after leaving New Orleans, Lizzy and Chris entered Lafayette
Parish and the heart of Cajun Country.
~*~*~
The Great Atchafalaya
Swamp cuts southern Louisiana in half, separating the swamp Cajuns
of Houma and Thibodaux from the plains Cajuns of Opelousas and
Lafayette. The interstate travels more than twenty miles over
the swamps and bottomlands of the state's second largest river.
The swamp is a national treasure - home to alligators, crawfish,
and other inhabitants of this North American rain forest. It
also is home to the greatest threat to the City of New Orleans.
The fact is, the
mighty Mississippi built Southeast Louisiana by moving and flooding.
Eons ago, the channel was the present-day Bayou Teche near Lafayette.
The uncontrollable stream meandered eastward over the millennia,
the silt it carried from two-thirds of the North American continent
slowly creating swamps and forestlands. By the time de Salle
discovered the river for his king, it had reached as far east
as it would ever go.
The spring floods
made the land near the river both rich and dangerous. Man would
solve the problem by building the largest levee system on the
planet, stretching thousands of miles up the river and its two
major contributories, the Missouri and Ohio. Trial, error and
technology would finally win the day, and the Mississippi would
be channeled to dump its millions of tons of slit from millions
of acres of farms and yards from thousands of square miles of
America into the deep off the continental shelf of the Gulf of
Mexico.
Yet, what Man can
make, Nature can destroy. It was known in the early half of the
Twentieth Century that the Atchafalaya was siphoning more and
more of the Mississippi's flow. By the middle of the century,
it had reached one-third, and showed no sign of stabilizing.
The conclusion was inescapable: the Mississippi was moving again.
For the Mississippi
to make such a change was completely natural; but, in the interval
since the last shift, a nation had developed, and the nation
could not afford Nature. The consequences of the Atchafalaya's
conquest of the Mississippi would include but not be limited
to the demise of Baton Rouge and the virtual destruction of New
Orleans. With its fresh water gone, its harbor a silt bar, its
economy disconnected from inland commerce, New Orleans would
die, and all the commerce along the Lower Mississippi with it.
In 1963, the US
Army Corps of Engineers dammed the "Old River," but
couldn't kill it. The swamp was too valuable. A flow had to be
allowed, and commercial travel on the Atchafalaya had to be taken
into account. Therefore, the flow was maintained at thirty percent.
Locks were put in place to allow traffic between the two rivers
and a third one, the Red River. This construct, the Old River
Control Structure, is a balancing act, preserving the Atchafalaya
Swamp while protecting New Orleans.
A flood in the 1970s
almost caused the structure to fail. Many say it is doomed to
failure - Nature cannot be stopped. Some on the extreme fringe
of the environmental movement say that the structure is an abomination
to Gaia - Earth Mother - and should be destroyed. People must
learn to live with Nature, not tame it, they said. If that puts
Morgan City under twenty-five feet of water, so be it.
This is an argument
that has little attraction in the Bayou State or in the halls
of Congress, as you can imagine. The construct's security is
paramount to the citizens of Louisiana.
Never fear, say
the Feds. The US Army Corps of Engineers is on the job. They'll
keep you safe. Who can you trust if you can't trust them?
~*~*~
Chuck's cell phone
rang. "Hello? Yeah, I'm fine. What?... You sure you're okay?...
All right, Sis. See you tomorrow. Bye."
"What's that
all about?" asked Henry.
"Carrie. Says
she's gonna sleep in and get some rest. So, with Jane hanging
out with Mari and Em, it looks like I'm batching it today."
Henry chuckled.
"I know. Cathy's joining them."
Chuck sat in thought.
Carrie's all alone. I hope she's not mooning over Will.
"So what'cha gonna do?"
"Oh, I've got
an errand to run today, buddy." He only smiled at Chuck's
questioning.
~*~*~
The Breauxes lived
in a modest three bedroom split-level ranch southwest of Lafayette
in what used to be a cane field. Now the barren land was spotted
with houses on their two- to three-acre lots and very few trees.
It is a truism that Cajuns like trees - just not near the house.
Might fall on your roof during a storm, don't you know? So you
plant them along the perimeter of your property. Under the power
line always seemed to be a popular spot for live oaks.
Lizzy and Chris
entered the house through the door in the garage. It opened into
the kitchen, where they found Mrs. Breaux. She was by herself,
as Mr. Breaux was at work. A jolly woman almost as wide as she
was tall, Mrs. Breaux insisted they eat some lunch after the
introductions were completed.
"Boudreaux…"
thought Mrs. Breaux aloud. "Are your people from Breaux
Bridge?"
Lizzy swallowed
her spoonful of seafood gumbo. "No, ma'am."
"St. Martinville?
I know Donald Boudreaux. He married a Gaubert."
Lizzy shook her
head. "My family's been around Chackbay and Thibodaux for
forever, though I think we had relatives who came from the river."
"Give it up,
Mom. Boudreaux's a common name. You don't know everybody."
"Just give
me some time, Chris, I'll think of somebody."
Chris leaned over
to Lizzy. "It's Mom's firm opinion that everybody's related
to everybody. It's just a matter of looking back far enough."
"Well, that's
true, isn't it?" insisted his mother. She sighed. "Well,
Lizzy, how did you meet my Chris?"
"Umm…at
a party." Lizzy was unsure of the question.
"And…"
she raised her eyebrows.
"And…we're
friends. Just friends, Mom. Sorry." Chris grinned.
"Oh."
Mrs. Breaux deflated. "Well, we're happy to have you here
in any case, Lizzy, even though that no-good son of mine is too
picky for his own good!"
"Jezze, Mom,
you're starting into me already?"
"Your brother's
married, and he's two years younger than you."
"Mike, the
auto mechanic," Chris clarified, before whispering, "Married
two years, with a two-year-old son."
"CHRIS!"
cried his mother.
Lizzy giggled at
Chris' embarrassment at being overheard. "That's all right,
Mrs. Breaux. Will I have a chance to meet them?"
"Oh, yes, they'll
be here tomorrow before we go to all the festivities. Mike is
riding, too." She frowned at Chris. "Margie is a lovely
girl and a wonderful mother. She works at the bank. Why you have
to pick on her…"
"Not her, Mom
- just Mike," he grinned. "He's the one that can't
do things in the right order. Can't help but to rag him about
it - been doing it for twenty-two years."
Mrs. Breaux shook
her head. "It never stops! You should have seen them as
teenagers, Lizzy! I thought they were going to be the death of
me! Have you had enough gumbo - can I get you any more? No? Well,
then, let me show you to your room."
~*~*~
Carrie had indeed
slept late, and she and Buford had awoken for good at about ten.
But they didn't dress. Carrie had the unusual experience of spending
the greater part of the day undressed, completely nude, with
a man in a similar state - just talking.
It was Buford's
idea. He bet Carrie she couldn't stay naked all day. Carrie took
the bet, with the caveat that towels were permitted to answer
the door.
At first, Carrie
was self-conscious. She didn't have body image issues like some
of her friends, but it was still strange to sit cross-legged
in bed without a stitch of clothes on talking to a buck-naked
man. In particular, a gorgeous creature like John Buford. He
was tan and built. He had plenty of hair where he needed it and
none where he didn't. His five o'clock shadow was persistent
and pleasing. At her insistence, he wore his dog tags. In return,
Buford had her retain her necklace. The awkwardness soon passed
and, while they never forgot the nakedness of the other, it was
not that big a distraction. It got to be fun, since they both
knew what was coming.
They talked about
everything - childhood, school, common acquaintances, jobs and
careers, dreams and plans. Carrie giggled as Buford told stories
about his family. Buford held her hand as Carrie tearfully told
him of her history. They argued over who had harder workouts
- the National Guard or the Golden Girls. Carrie heard about
every mission Buford had been sent on. They discussed the state
of the world and if the crawfish season was going to be better
than last year. Carrie, who had never talked to one guy for more
than ten minutes at a stretch, conversed for hours with this
man.
They ordered pizza
when they got hungry. Carrie could barely hold in her laughter
as Buford got the door, with a towel around his waist, to pay
for the pies and drinks. There was something incredibly silly
and sexy about eating pizza in the nude - especially if you shared.
They made love when
they got the urge. Actually, it was when Carrie got the urge.
She pushed her lover back down on the bed. "Now, Mr. Captain
John Buford, Esquire, Master of the Universe - I'm gonna make
you cry for mercy!" Carrie promised with a gleam in her
eye.
"Pretty big
talk for a dancer," he taunted back.
Carrie leered and
reached down between his legs. "We'll see," was all
she said as she lowered her head. Buford seized the sheets in
his fists as she pleasured him with her hands and mouth. Buford
did all he could to hold out - he thought of work, golf scores,
the last twenty-mile march with full pack - anything. When he
thought he was going to go out of his mind, she ceased. She made
a production out of fitting him with protection. Slowly straddling
him, poised over his erection, one hand holding him steady, she
halted and looked him right in the eye.
"Well?"
she drawled.
"Lord, have
mercy," he croaked as she impaled herself upon him.
~*~*~
Emma, Cathy, Mari
and Jane left Emma's house just after eleven o'clock. It took
Emma some time to drive her Saab to her father's reserved downtown
parking spot. The four gathered up their purses and made for
Canal Street.
Minutes later the
quartet was strolling through the crowds on Bourbon Street. The
gray overcast skies dampened the festivities with a bit of drizzle
- nothing enough to stop the partying. The narrow streets, turned
into a walking mall, were filled with people in various states
of dress, almost slouching from the vast quantity of beads about
their necks, moving from bar to pub to dance club to hotel. Most
had a cup of something in their hands. The smell of stale beer
and worse filled the air, as did the sounds of jazz, Mardi Gras
standards, rock, county, Zydeco and techno-dance. Street performers
were out in force, as were the ever-present teams of police.
"This is nothing!"
Emma advised Jane. "You ought to see Mardi Gras Day. The
costumes are worth the hassle by themselves!"
Within a few crowded
blocks, the group passed by the first of the French Quarter hotels,
famous for their balconies. It was early in the afternoon, so
only a few of the balconies were peopled with revelers. The kings
and queens of all they surveyed, they taunted the throngs below,
waving their beads as if they were precious jewels.
"Oh,"
said Jane wistfully, "I'd love to do that - have a balcony
room on Bourbon Street."
Emma laughed. "Yeah
- just reserve them at least a year in advance and be ready to
pay top dollar. Corporations and tour groups grab the majority
of them."
Above them, a couple
of comely coeds were egging on the crowd. The chant from the
street, "SHOW YOUR TITS! SHOW YOUR TITS! SHOW YOUR TITS!"
filled the afternoon air. With a smile, the two complied, to
an appreciative roar.
"This is so
wild!" cried Jane as her companions laughed.
A group of young
men, college students who were not strangers to the various dens
of alcohol that lined Bourbon Street, were the most boisterous
of the bunch below the balcony. "HEY BABY!" cried one
of them. "HOW DO YOU LIKE THIS?" He turned around,
and pulled down his shorts.
"Oh - my -
gawd!" laughed Mari.
Mooning the perky
pair was not enough, it seemed - the man turned around, his pants
and boxers about his knees. "GET A LOAD OF THIS…!"
Just then the scene
descended into momentary chaos; figures in blue and green swarmed
the inebriated group. Mari, Jane and the other girls were confused
and disorientated by the sudden noise and movement. A few curse
words and the scrum of people broke into two groups, the blue-and-green
band moving away while the remainder recovered from the shock.
"Hey! TJ! They've
got TJ!" one cried.
The second group
followed after the first.
"What…what
was that?" asked a shaken Jane.
"New Orleans'
finest doing their jobs," answered Emma. "Let's go."
The girls moved in the opposite direction.
~*~*~
A HISTORY OF MARDI GRAS
A series for the Loyola VOICE by Lizzy Boudreaux
I know you guys
don't want to hear this next part. You've all met them. A lot
of you have been hassled by them. We've read in the paper about
the controversies and corruption and all the other junk. But
this part is irrefutable.
The New Orleans
Police Department is the best crowd control police in the United
States.
Finished screaming?
Okay. Now think about this, those of you from Atlanta, Pittsburgh
and Seattle - how would the cops in those towns handle what happens
during Carnival?
See what I mean?
The truth of the
matter is that the NOPD is the reason Mardi Gras goes off as
well as it does. They know how to keep tabs on what's going on
and allow the fun to happen without ruining it for all of us.
We know people who have had to be detained during the festivities,
and we don't feel sorry for them, do we? That's because we KNOW
those fools went too far. Stay within the loose rules and everything's
cool.
There are several
secrets to their success.
One, the NOPD is
out in force. They are EVERYWHERE. In the Quarter they have people
on almost every block. To do this, they bring in reinforcements.
Louisiana State Police, sheriff deputies and police officers
from across the state are teamed up with the local cops and patrol
the party areas. They are on every block of Bourbon Street for
the duration.
Second, the boys
and girls in blue know what to see and what not to see. Mardi
Gras is supposed to be crazy, and they know that. So the cops
let things go during the last week of Carnival that they wouldn't
normally overlook any other time. It's like football referees
that "let 'em play" during a big playoff game rather
than throw their little yellow flags everywhere. So, if the occasional
top goes up, no big deal. Just follow the unofficial rules of
Mardi Gras and everything's cool:
* - Drink out of plastic or cans. Glass is a huge
no-no. Common sense here, folks.
* - Girls, if you want
to make the boys happy, okay. Just don't make it a habit. Too
much skin, or too often will result in a request to shut it down.
Leave 'em wanting more.
* - Guys, life is unfair.
You can't give the girls a show of your own. You try to pull
down your pants, you will be busted. Trust me.
* - Girls, you grab your
pants, you'll get the same result as the boys.
* - Everybody, keep your
hands to yourself. Enjoy with your eyes. If you try to "help"
someone put on a show, you'll be the show, as you're hauled
off to the lockup.
* - Climbing anything is
a no-no. Common sense here, again.
* - Public urination is
NEVER okay. You pee - you pay.
If you play it cool,
the cops will play it cool. Neat concept, huh?
Third, the NOPD
has a not-so secret weapon…
~*~*~
Lt. Richard Fitzwilliam,
due to his seniority, was assigned to the afternoon shift in
the Quarter this Lundi Gras. Usually a quiet time with few incidents,
he could take a moment to enjoy himself - as he was doing now,
with an inebriated engineering student wearing his Georgia Tech
t-shirt.
"Peeing on
the street, huh? What's that all about?" The student was
sitting on the curb, hand secured behind his back with zip-tie
handcuffs, while Richard and a State Trooper were "processing"
him. "What in the world made you think that was okay?"
"It's…it's
Mardi Gras…you know…they said…" the student
mumbled, his eyes on his sneakers. They were on a side street
between Bourbon and Royal, a couple of squad cars and a paddy
wagon making up their command post. Revelers passed on the sidewalk
across the street, taking in the impromptu entertainment.
"They
said? Who said? Who told you that you could whip out your wiener
and wiz all over MY town? Is that what they're teaching you at
Georgia Tech?" He turned to his companion. "I thought
that was an institution of higher learning, didn't you?"
"Just a shame,
Fitz," replied the trooper. "No manners a'tall."
"Is that what
you do in Atlanta? Just piss right in somebody's alley? Is that
how they handle things there?"
"No…but…I
thought…"
Fitz leaned down,
his hand on his knees. "How would you like it next time
I'm in Atlanta I just walk in and take a leak right in the middle
of your dorm room? How'd you like that?"
Before the student
could answer, the radio secured to Richard's shoulder board began
squawking. Richard and the trooper listened for a couple of moments.
"Right, I copy. Ready to receive," he radioed back.
He turned to his companion. "Get this guy in the wagon."
He walked over to a cop in one of the cars. "Incoming,"
he said through the open window.
A minute later four
patrolmen - two NOPD and two sheriff's deputies from a western
Louisiana parish - were frog-walking a young man around the corner,
his belt undone and his beads swinging as they walked. One of
the NOPD was looking nervously over her shoulder.
"What we got?"
asked Richard.
The male cop reported,
"Drunk, trying to flash a balcony of women. Didn't take
to being arrested, and neither did his buddies." Just then
a group of men, about college age, came around the same corner.
There were six of them, all large, one wearing a Penn State sweatshirt.
They were shouting and cursing.
Fitz barked an order
into his radio. "Okay," he said to his companions,
"back-up's coming. Get him in the wagon now." With
that, he moved to the unruly group. "Okay guys, party time's
over! Y'all just walk on back to the street and everything's
gonna be okay!"
"No way, dude!"
cried what seemed to be the leader of the gang. "We want
TJ back! He ain't done nothing!" The others agreed loudly.
The patrolmen formed
a semi-circle behind Fitz, their hands on their batons, while
the lieutenant tried to reason with the visitors. "Look,
guys, he's under arrest for lewd behavior and public drunkenness.
You can collect him at the police station in the Quarter after
we get through processing him."
"Drunk! Fuck
- most of the people out here are wasted. Go arrest them! Stop
hassling TJ!"
"Fuckers just
wanna screw with the tourists," claimed another student.
"Assholes!"
Fitz stood patiently.
"Guys, you REALLY don't want to do this."
The students disregarded
Fitz's warning, shouting and psyching themselves up to rush the
officers. Fitz knew he had only moments to decide when to order
batons and defend themselves. Any second now…
An instant later,
two mounted NOPD galloped from around the corner right at the
enraged students. The massive horses, highly trained in crowd
work, pinned the group against the wall of a nearby building.
The shock of the huge animals took the fight out of the group,
as planned. The intimidated students began falling back towards
Bourbon Street, their cries now full of fear of being trampled
rather than freeing their friend.
Fitz sighed in relief
before turning to his command. "All right, we're gonna let
that bunch go, but I want y'all to keep an eye on them for awhile.
They'll calm down, now. Good work, everybody."
Fitz strolled over
to the mounted police. "I thought y'all would never get
here."
"Sorry, Lieutenant,
we were a couple of blocks away. Got here as quick as we could
without running anybody over."
Fitz didn't want
to admit how close he was to ordering Batons Out. "Trail
that bunch for me, okay?"
"You got it,
Fitz."
Richard returned
to the wagon and ordered it to deliver its human cargo to the
station.
"Is it always
this exciting, Fitz?" asked the state trooper as the wagon
pulled away.
"That? That's
nothing. Sometimes we get John Goodman or Dan Aykroyd walking
by. Now, that's exciting."
~*~*~
The highlight of
the Lundi Gras festivities - which included a feast of free live
music, topped off by a set at Spanish Plaza by The Iguanas -
was the first-ever greeting of the king and queen of Zulu by
Rex, king of Carnival. Following Rex's arrival by Coast Guard
cutter at six o'clock and a fireworks display, the emcee introduced
Zulu - prompting the crowd to burst into a chant, "ZU-LU,
ZU-LU, ZU-LU!"
Rex greeted and
thanked Zulu and then offered a special tribute to Louis "Satchmo"
Armstrong. "This is a great moment for Mardi Gras, a great
moment for the city of New Orleans," Zulu proclaimed. The
mayor, for his part, called the occasion a "symbolic coming
together." Adding to the historical aura was the fact that,
as several officials duly noted, 1999 marked the 300th anniversary
of the christening of Pointe du Mardi Gras, a plot of ground
some 60 miles south of New Orleans, where a French-Canadian expedition
landed on Mardi Gras, March 3, 1699.
Addressing his royal
subjects at Spanish Plaza, Rex predicted that, "Tomorrow
is going to be a fabulous day for us all!"
As the music began
again, the four hurried to Emma's car for the trip back Uptown.
They joined up with the others along the parade route just as
Orpheus, Harry Connick Jr's celebrity krewe was passing by.
"Did we miss
Sandra Bullock?" asked Jane.
"Afraid so,"
said Chuck. "But I caught a doubloon for you."
Jane accepted it
with a shy smile. "Thank you, Charles."
The look on Jane's
face would have sent the old Charles Bingley into orbit. But
this was a wiser man, more cautious, more deliberate. He knew
he liked Jane Boudreaux - a lot - but he was not willing to give
his heart away completely. Be cool, man; get to know her first.
Don't push so hard. If something's there, it will come. "You're
welcome. Did you have fun in the Quarter?"
Jane happily described
the girls' adventures to Chuck and William while the parade passed
by. Emma watched the scene with a satisfied look as John greeted
Mari.
"Hey, babe,
I missed you," he said.
Mari kissed his
cheek. "Me, too. We had a blast."
"Good - I'm
glad."
"Yeah - we
had so much fun we're gonna have a sleep-over tonight."
John blinked. "What?"
"I'm sorry,
baby, but it was Emma's idea. Jane's so excited…" At
John's disappointed look, she added, "It just came up. Look,
we've got to keep Lizzy's sister entertained. There's plenty
of time for us tomorrow." She played with his shirt. "We
got parades all day, there's the party at the house afterwards,
and we'll be together the whole time."
John gave her a
smile. "Right. We got all day tomorrow. You promise, right?"
"I promise."
Yeah, until something
else comes up. John's
mind was made up. "Okay - you have fun tonight. Just do
me one favor."
"What's that?"
He whispered in
her ear. "Don't stay up too late."
"Oooo…sounds
like you've got something planned."
John just grinned.
~*~*~
Emma was laughing
with Cathy and Henry, trying to catch beads. She was backing
up to catch a particularly long strand when she collided with
something rather firm. Strong arms prevented her from falling.
"Are you okay,
Em?"
Emma turned her
head to her rescuer. "George? I thought you were working
tonight!"
"No."
"But…but
you told me!" George helped her regain her feet before he
released her. "You said so Friday."
"No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did.
You said you were working at the hospital this weekend."
George smiled. "In
case you forgot, today's Monday. The weekend ended last night."
Emma had her fists
on her hips. "You said that you would be here on Tuesday.
What was I supposed to think?"
"That I was
gonna be here on Tuesday. I didn't say anything about Monday."
"Right!"
"So…am
I supposed to leave?"
"No! I mean…agggrh,
you drive me crazy!"
"I'm sorry.
I just decided at the last minute. I didn't know how tired I
would be."
Emma's expression
changed. "How tired are you?"
"Not bad. The
shooting goes down for Carnival. Mostly injured drunks, along
with the usual mayhem."
Emma took his hand.
"Well, I'm happy you're here. Can I get you a beer?"
"Sure, that
would be nice."
Emma smiled as she
pulled him along with her. "Well, come on with me. I have
to tell you 'bout my day."
~*~*~
John Waguespack
climbed into his car after the parade. But instead of turning
on the ignition, he used his cell phone.
"Greg? It's
John."
"Yeah -
whadda ya want?"
"Remember that
offer you made me? Something about 'setting the mood?'"
"Yeah. Changed
your mind?"
"I think we
gotta talk."
~*~*~
The girls walked
back to the house, singing.
"UNH!
Down in New Orleans where the blues was born,
It takes a cool cat to blow a horn.
On LaSalle and Rampart Street,
The combo's there with a mambo beat.
The Mardi Gras, mambo, mambo, mambo,
Mardi Gras, mambo, mambo, mambo,
Mardi Gras, mambo-ooh,
Down in New Orleans!"*
They were laughing
and carrying on, Abe and George following, hauling chairs and
coolers.
"Think you're
gonna get any sleep tonight, Abe?"
"Shoot, it
gets too bad, I'll put on my robe and join them."
Emma looked over
her shoulder. "Oh, no, Papa! We'll be quiet! We promise!
Right girls?" That triggered another round of giggles.
Abe chuckled. "What
is it that causes perfectly normal females to revert to twelve-year-olds
when they get more than three together?"
"Don't know,
but if you find out, you'll get rich." And I'm glad you
said that and not me, thought George as Emma glared at her
father. At Abe's direction, he placed the ice chest on the front
porch.
"I'll see y'all
tomorrow. 'Night Abe; ladies. Behave yourself, Emma."
Emma rolled her
eyes. "Good night, Doctor Katz. Don't forget your
Metamucil."
He grinned. "I
take it every night. Later."
Emma's musing over
George's unexpected appearance was interrupted by Mari. "Hey!
Do we have costumes for tomorrow?"
"I didn't bring
anything," confessed Jane.
"Well, we'll
just fix that!" announced Emma with a gleam in her eye.
~*~*~
Lizzy scrunched
down into the covers of the Breaux's guest bed, thinking about
her sister. She hoped she was having fun, but without a cell
phone, she was loath to use the Breaux's telephone to check on
her.
I'm being silly.
Will and Chuck will take care of her. Hah! Chuck definitely will! She frowned. Things are happening
awfully fast there. I hope Jane doesn't get hurt.
I shouldn't worry
- Chuck's a great guy, and…she's made a friend of Carrie,
of all people. She sighed. Jane's got the gift, I guess. Everybody
loves Jane. Still…
Oh, stop it!
You're not Jane's keeper. Besides, William will be there - he'll
look out for her.
That's weird.
Why did I just think of Darcy?
It's because
he's mature. Mature and dependable. Like a dog - she giggled - a big, hairy Golden
Retriever…
She recalled her
movie date with Darcy. No, more like a sleek, black, magnificent
Doberman Pincher.
She shivered. She
put all thoughts of sisters and dogs out of her head and went
to sleep.
~*~*~
* - "Mardi
Gras Mambo" by
K. Elliott, L. Welch and F. Adams
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